


Tooth and Nail

by irisbleufic



Series: The Apple In Our Hands [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Canon Jewish Character, Canon Queer Character, Cryptozoology, Dinosaurs, Established Relationship, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Needs More Dinosaurs!, New Relationship, Ocean, Scotland, Sea Monsters, Summer, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “Fossils in New Jersey,” says Hermann, testing his thumb against the point.  “Remarkable.”“Nah, not really,” Newton says, snatching it away from him.  “Not with all those Cretaceous deposits.  It’s mostly shark teeth, but I did find a dryptosaur toe—”“You must tell me more about this one,” Hermann replies, hefting the larger piece.





	Tooth and Nail

Hermann’s villa is more of a shabby Victorian terraced house, but Newton knows better than to restart that argument. It has a gated patio looking over the sea. On it, there are a table and two chairs, and Newton, after a month living there, is fed up with not using it.

Tu B’Av isn’t a tradition that Jacob and Illia have ever marked in their half-assed, well-meaning way of making sure Newton at least keeps a fingernail-hold on casual observance. But Hermann likes to fuss over even the smallest of holidays.

They’re in the middle of putting together the meal for which Hermann’s part-time housekeeper—Newton’s now, too, and that’s just _weird_ —had delivered groceries. There are more fruits and pastries than anything of actual substance.

The doorbell rings so loudly that Hermann almost slices into his finger instead of the next strawberry that needs de-greening.

“Hah, close one,” Newton offers, freezing mid-task as he realizes who’s at the door.

“What’s so important that you couldn’t help me finish setting out supper, I’d like to know?” Hermann roars as Newton abandons his pastry-arranging efforts and makes a break for the front of the house, where the doorbell has grown insistent.

Newton thinks it’s funny that he has to sign off on a clipboard for a deliveryman in a starched uniform. Sure, delivery guys in America wear uniforms, but they don’t look like _this_. His life’s officially turned into something right out of a film.

“Obliged, Mr. Geiszler,” says the deliveryman, his Highlands burr wrecking the name.

While the truck putters away, Newton puzzles over how the hell he’s going to get four wooden crates inside the house without incurring Hermann’s wrath. Granted, Hermann’s wrath has already been incurred, and he’s not about to let his possessions sit in the street all night. He drags them in.

He doesn’t mean to linger, to pry open the fourth when he finds the lid is loose, but Pandora has nothing on him. He picks through the dusty, crumpled newspaper beneath the creaky panel until his hand hits the first wrapped parcel.

And what he finds inside, smooth black bone the size of his fist with a slender burgundy spike that clinks against it like glass, sends him racing back through the house to show Hermann. But the kitchen is already empty.

Visible through the window, Hermann is outside with all of the food and wine neatly arranged on the table before him. He continues to roll his cigarette as if he hasn’t noticed Newton’s return, lighting it as Newton comes outside with his prized possessions at arms’ length.

“Look at these,” Newton says, panting happily. “Tendo got ’em here in one piece.”

Hermann flicks his cigarette aside, taking one object in each hand as Newton sits down. Questioningly, he holds up the two-inch spike.

“This is rather more what you’d hoped to find out on the loch, isn’t it?” he asks wryly. “Something living and breathing with a mouth full of them?”

“Plesiosaur tooth, first one I ever found,” Newton says proudly. “Dad and Illia made me a sifting tray and took me to Ramanessin Brook.”

“Fossils in New Jersey,” says Hermann, testing his thumb against the point. “Remarkable.”

“Nah, not really,” Newton says, hastily snatching it away from him. “Not with all those Cretaceous deposits. It’s mostly shark teeth, but I did find a dryptosaur toe—”

“You must tell me more about this one,” Hermann replies, hefting the larger piece.

“That pretty girl,” says Newton, reaching for the glass of rosé already in front of his place setting, “came from Judith River in Montana. So we called her Judy, just—kind of a joke.”

“She must have been young,” Hermann murmurs, passing the vertebra back and forth between his palms. “No adult skeleton I’ve ever seen has boasted something so delicate.”

“Just a lil’ baby,” Newton agrees, reaching for the nonetheless hefty bone. “Here, she can keep the napkins from blowing away,” he continues, placing both fossils on the pile.

Hermann raises his glass of wine, eyes crinkling with mock-reproach over the rim of it.

“What do you suppose Tzadok of Lublin would have to say about that? His essay makes no mention of including Leviathan’s teeth.”

“As much as he talks about wine,” Newton says, grinning as he raises his own, “HaKohen was a lush, and you can quote me. _L’chaim_.”


End file.
